Bradley Jones's Chastity - Chapter 10 (Free Read!)

Erotic Adventures in a world where Chaste is an identity and the UK NHS installs permanent chastity devices...

Click through to read a side adventure!

Lydia smiles up at me. “How do you like your new cock, Jones?”

Double-take!

I’m stark naked... well except for the low-key glass collar that marks me as a chaste, and the low slung silicone jockstrap.

Lydia --- my actual boss, but also my potential new girlfriend who turns out to be scary Caroline’s ex wife --- is still wearing her cosy burgundy dress and knee-boots, and she’s kneeling at my feet nuzzling and lapping at the tip of my erect cock, long dark hair swinging, small eyes twinkling as she gazes up at me lovingly.

Except for that glass collar, it’s like we’ve skipped forward a year.

Oh and the fact that the cock I can see is a numb prosthetic. My real cock is a knot of throbbing hardness in its cage, hidden by the scrotum-effect pouch of the silicone jockstrap.

But I don’t care.

“Shag!” I repeat.

Lydia rises up, trapping the silicone cock between us. It’s wet with her saliva and the touch is cold enough to tighten my belly.

Lydia puts her hands around my neck, fingers under my class collar. She treats me to her urchin grin --- uneven teeth, twinkling eyes --- then kisses me on the lips.

A nibble and a suck send wild sensations to my crotch.

I slip my arms around her waist. The stretchy burgundy fabric is smooth and warm on my skin.

Lydia twists and ends up with her back to me, soft buttocks pressed into my hard crotch. The cold dildo is trapped against my belly like a snake.

I nuzzle through her dark hair, find her ear. I use my tongue to flick her golden hoop earring. “I want you.”

There’s a doorway across the little hall from the bathroom. Lydia turns the handle. “Behold the Place of Shagging!”

I peer over her shoulder and I must say, she’s not wrong.

The bedroom within is all sexy blacks and earthy browns lit by uplighters that cast a warm glow over a a grey marble-look laminate floor that seems calculated to add a splash of posh hotel room chique.

“Wow,” I say.

“Mariella’s work,” says Lydia. “Do you know her?”

I have a flash of pounding the mature blond woman to orgasm. “Name rings a bell,” I manage.

I’m still holding Lydia’s waist so it’s a great laugh to stagger into the bedroom, me keeping my bare feet clear of her boots.

Still laughing, she halts and bends over towards the foot of the bed.

Taking the cue, I release her waist and raise the hem of her dress and underskirt together. Beneath, stockings give way to bare buttocks; long curves and soft bulges of white-olive flesh.

My hips twitch. My groin spasms. And I want her.

WANT.

Like hunger, but so much more than that!

“I’ve got fuck you!”

“Oh Jones, I was planning...” Lydia bends over further so her hair swings forward. She braces on the bed. “Go on then.” She tilts her buttocks invitingly.

I gather the burgundy fabric up above her waist, exposing the full heart-shape of her rear and the base of her spine. Her warm musk floats up to me, sharp and feline.

I shudder but somehow cannot move.

Lydia wriggles her bottom. “Come on Jones! I’m dripping!”

I edge forward, clutch her bare waist with my fingers. Carefully, I hook the dildo up between her legs; I know from experience, too much enthusiasm at this stage can go badly.

I expect her to guide me in by hand. Instead, Lydia tilts her pelvis a little, then spreads her booted feet and braces her legs.

There’s a distinct squelch!

“You’re in! Fuck me, Jones!”

My pelvis twitches, grinding my crotch into her soft buttocks. There’s a wet warmth against my pubic hair, a cooler sensation against the front of my thighs.

Just like real sex.

Unlike my Magic Boxers, the silicone jockstrap leaves most of my hips and abdomen bare, or at least only covered in a mesh. The raw intimacy of skin to skin shocks through me. I blurt, “Fuck!”

“Oh my god yes!” cries Lydia. “Fuck me, Jones. Fuck me!”

I quiver and Lydia ripples against me. The motion builds into a frantic rocking: me thrusting, her twitching her pelvis, the prosthetic penis slurping in and out of her hungry vagina.

I’m aware of more than just skin. Her stockings are warm against the outside of my knees. The leather of her boots is cold against the sides of my calves. The corners of her boot heels dig into the side of my feet.

I gain confidence, pull out further so I can make each return thrust longer, harder. Now each thrust triggers a gasp from Lydia.

We settle into a rhythm. She exhales as I withdraw, gasps as I thrust. Each sound sends a sharp spasm through my imprisoned groin.

A dozen thrusts in, now her gasps have a squeaking quality. Another dozen and she’s whimpering, “Oh god oh god oh god oh...”

She lets out a screech, earthy and primal. The sound spears through me, turns my groin into bag of sticky wetness.

I slacken off.

Lydia turns her head to look over her shoulder at me through a half-curtain of black hair. “Keep fucking Jones! Keep fucking!”

I pick up speed, taking us back to back to thrust-gasp, withdraw-pant.

And suddenly it’s like I’m watching the action from a distance, or walking through a VR experience as unseen and irrelevant as a ghost.

I glance down between us.

There, where twitching thighs and rocking buttocks meet is her neat pussy. The inner lips suck wetly as the glistening silicone penis slurps in and out. Lower, there’s a few inches of pale thigh, then dark stockings that give her long legs a pen-and-ink quality... like a pornographic drawing from an Edwardian gentleman’s secret library.

And then there are her boots, all crinkle and sheen in the mood lighting.

RedRunner said chastes are interactive porn.

If so, then so too are the virgos and viragos who like us.

The only difference is the timing of the orgasm. Women cum as we lick, finger or fuck them. We cum when... well, ten months from now I shall remember this moment and wank myself silly.

“Oh fuck!” cries Lydia. “Jeezu---.” She interrupts herself with another screech. This one lasts longer than before, wobbles for a while before it tails off.

And still I pound into her while my cage slowly tightens around my reviving cock.

I’m not sure why, but I glance round the room --- her room --- with a dresser of cosmetics and lotions, a comfortable bed, a Laurell K Hamilton omnibus on the bedside table, ivory silk pyjamas on a handy chair...

I switch to feasting my eyes on Lydia, making myself remember the way her spine undulates under her burgundy dress... the glitter of her gold necklace and earrings... the smoothness of her bare skin down to her stocking-tops... and the hot scent of her pussy rising up to bathe my face.

Lydia orgasms for a third time.

And now --- as I pound the dildo into her ready vagina --- I feel sad.

I’ll never have this again. Never again be able to ride the storm like this.

Lydia reaches her fourth orgasm with a full-throated bellow, like an Olympic weight lifter at her limit. She flops forward, off me. “Jesus! Enough! Wow! Fuck!”

I stand there, hard again in my cage, the dildo still numbly erect.

Lydia rolls onto her side and gives me her cheeky urchin look.

She’s going to want a cuddle in the afterglow! But I’m still turned on. I just can’t...

“Still up for more, Jones?”

“God yes!”

“You’re all man!” Lydia laughs. “Strip me, Jones.”

Silicone penis wobbling, I unzip her dress, unclip her bra, pull the silk underskirt down over stockinged legs, unzip her boots.

She kicks her legs knowingly. “What about the stockings?”

“I thought we’d leave them on.”

“Pervert!” Lydia rolls off the bed to her feet and stands there naked, face flushed behind her make up, long hair dishevelled, nipples erect. With a swing of breast, she stoops and whisks away the duvet to reveal...

Leather bondage cuffs and straps installed on the bed.

I have a vision of naked Caroline whirling her long whip. My cock shrivels against its piercing anchor.

I flinch, back away to the open door. “No!”

Lydia giggles. “They’re for me, you idiot. I’m a switch.”

I blink. “Uh.”

Lydia dives back onto the bed and spread-eagles herself on her front. “Go on, tie me up!”

I make for her left ankle. The leather cuff is beautifully made, with neat stitching and tooled edges. There are three holes in the strap, but the middle one has clearly seen some use. I buckle it over her trim stockinged ankle, then do the same with her other leg.

Her wrists seem so delicate I hesitate.

She lifts her face off the mattress. “Push back the bangles.”

I do as biden, then tighten the webbing straps.

Now Lydia lies stretched across her bed in a taut X, elegant golden jewellery and sleek stockings contrasting with the chunky bondage cuffs.

“How do I look, Jones.”

I shudder goes through me. “Beautiful,” I hear myself say. “I mean I don’t know what to do with you but you look beautiful. If I could just jerk off now I’d be happy. That beautiful. I mean...” I’m talking rubbish. Crude rubbish at that.

Lydia lifts her head and chuckles. “But you can’t jerk off, Jones. Don’t you want to touch me anyway?”

“Hell yes.” I move to kneel beside her. I stroke her long dark hair, trace her shoulder blades with my fingers. Kneeling up, I slide my hands around her.

She lifts her torso so I can fondle her heavy breasts. I find her small nipples, squeeze.

Lydia purrs and arcs her back. “Oh, Jones, you’re evil.”

I laugh and slip my hands free. Now I run them down her spine, cup her buttocks. The skin is clammy with her perspiration. I stroke the backs of her thighs down to where the elastic of the stocking tops dimples the flesh.

Lydia sighs and raises her hips suggestively.

I reach between her thighs to stroke her pussy. The lips are hot and wet on my palm.

Lydia squirms in her bonds. “Mrs Lovebutton is only good for one more orgasm, so you have to do something for me first.”

I withdraw my hands and return to the stroking her thighs. “Anything.”

“Are you turned on, Jones?”

“Horribly.”

“Doesn’t that make you cross?”

I shake my head, though she can’t see me.

“Back of the bedroom door,” she says.

I hop off the bed and shit the door. Sure enough, hanging on the hook over her dressing gown is a whip.

Well, not really a whip. More what I think they call a flogger: a thick handle with several strips of soft leather.

“Found it?” asks Lydia. “Now you can take out all that anger and frustration.”

I flick it. It swishes but doesn’t crack. “Did...” I begin. I want to ask, Did Caroline ever beat you until you bled and pleaded for mercy? Is that why you broke up? Instead I finish lamely, “Do you really want me to use this on you?”

“Absolutely. I’m a switch.”

I pad over to stand to her right and raise the flogger. Though the dildo remains defiantly erect, I’m now limp inside my chastity device. It doesn’t really matter, though.

I swing the toy back handed. The strips of soft leather smack into her buttocks.

Lydia gasps and writhes in her bonds; pale skin and dark stockings under the soft light. “Harder!”

Now my penis revives. Another stroke to her buttocks, then her thighs.

She squeals winningly and quivers.

Back to buttocks...

“Not the waist, Jones!”

I skip her waist and thwack her across the shoulder blades.

She arches her back. “Oh that hits the spot!”

I work my way down again and finally settle into flogging her long buttocks until they are a rosy red.

She strains against her bonds. “Now, Jones! Now! G-Spot.”

I drop the flogger and slide two fingers into her pussy.

Lydia groans and the muscles ripple around the intruding digits.

I hook my fingers into the roof of her vagina and rub. “How’s this.”

“Oh god yes!”

There’s nothing to this. Lydia clearly knows what she likes. I work my arm like a piston. Her vagina squelches. Her juices flow onto the sheet.

Lydia’s entire body strains into a tense, stockinged, X. The leather cuffs creak. Her breathing quickens. Her vagina clenches and unclenches around my fingers.

A growl escapes her throat, twists into a mewl then a howl.

She shudders. Fluid squirts from her urethra, soaks the sheet. Her vagina goes slack.

Without being bidden, I gently withdraw, then set about unstrapping her limbs.

Still in her stockings, Lydia grabs a pillow and rolls onto her side in a halo of her own dark hair. “Covers. Cuddle me.”

I get the duvet over her then struggle out of the dildo-jock strap. At last, I slide into bed next to her and clasp her naked body to mine. My pierced penis hardens forlornly in its cage, but I don’t care; its turn will come. “About our relationship...?” I begin.

But Lydia is asleep.

I wake before her, with the dawn streaming in around the edges of the blinds. I sit up and contemplate the naked woman. By rights I should just slip away. We were supposed to talk about our relationship. Instead she got me to... do things for her.

A pity.

I imagine walking into the Class of 2020 Reunion with her on my arm. And after. And after that.

Lydia’s eyes open. “Jones? Thank God you’re still here. We were supposed to talk. All my fault. I got carried away.”

I realise I’m an idiot and laugh. “You and me both. I’ll get us some breakfast.”

Her elegant kitchen --- it turns out - is full of crap; mostly frozen ready meals and packet soup. I do, however, find decent coffee and some acceptable bagels.

I find her still cheerfully naked, sat up in bed with her golden necklace nestling between full breasts. As I set down the tray, she smiles the same urchin smile she had when she basically gave me back my penis. “I could get used to this, Jones.”

“Me too,” I say. “Let’s get our phones and go exclusive.”

She blinks at me.

Oh shit. Too pushy! “It’s not permanent,” I add hastily. “I mean, either of us can end it, not like...”

“Great idea,” says Lydia. “Let me drink my coffee first.”

And so, we both bring up HrLckr. She sends me an invite to be Exclusive. A couple of clicks and I’m off the market and we’re an item!

Not only that, but she orders a golden clip-on cover for my QR code, with “LW” --- her initials --- tastefully stylised in an Art Deco font so as not to be too obvious. I mean... it’s not like she owns me.

She buys me lunch at nice little French place by the old dock basin. Then I take her to a farmers market. Come evening, I cook her a proper meal --- probably a first for her kitchen! After desert, we drink red wine in front of her wide screen TV and watch an old romantic comedy.

“Whatshername,” says Lydia, giving me a boozy kiss, “would have done a lot better had Mark and Daniel both been permanently chaste.”

“But she wanted a conventional married life,” I say.

Lydia laughs. “Who says a girl can’t have her cake and get eaten?” pushing my head down suggestively.

I’m happy to oblige.

It’s a couple of days before the dildo jockstrap gets any use --- Lydia needs to recover from the passionate pounding I gave her.

However, we then quickly settle into a more regular sex life. I even learn to ignore the throb in my groin and doze off next to her.

We haven’t really discussed our relationship. I suppose I just need to work at adjusting to her communication style.

One thing I know I can’t adjust to is seeing her around the office in that burgundy dress and boots combo. Instant flashback! It’s probably a good thing I can’t jerk off or the there’d be complaints about me locking myself in the loo!

I’m relieved when the season turns and the bling-drenched sandals and summer dresses come out.

Now there’s less than half a year until my cock is free and --- yes --- I suppose it’s natural that I worry about being able to keep up with Lydia. However, I’m sure my girlfriend and I --- I love saying that! --- will cross that bridge when I cum... come to it, I mean.

It’s best to focus on the here and now, like the prospect of showing her off at the Class of 2020 Reunion.

She’s even hinting at some big surprise to make it even better.

Everything is perfect. What could go wrong now?

---

While you’re waiting for the next episode, click through to see my other chastity erotica…